General Interest > Let It Bleed

The Lyrics thread

<< < (101/161) > >>

TheWho:
Queen Jimson wrote:

--- Quote ---You been dick ridin' us for ages, troll shit. Shove it up your arse and fuck off while you're doing it. You picked a good song for yourself. Ian McDonald whored himself musically by starting the most lame Muzak group Foreigner. Peter Sinfield writes drivel for Celine Dion these days.

Hacks like yourself, Whobag.
--- End quote ---



Response



...

Froderik:
Look, he's crawling up my wall
Black and hairy, very small
Now he's up above my head
Hanging by a little thread

Boris the spider
Boris the spider

Now he's dropped on to the floor
Heading for the bedroom door
Maybe he's as scared as me
Where's he gone now, I can't see

Boris the spider
Boris the spider

Creepy, crawly
Creepy, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly

There he is wrapped in a ball
Doesn't seem to move at all
Perhaps he's dead, I'll just make sure
Pick this book up off the floor

Boris the spider
Boris the spider

Creepy, crawly
Creepy, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly

He's come to a sticky end
Don't think he will ever mend
Never more will he crawl 'round
He's embedded in the ground

Boris the spider
Boris the spider

TheWho:
The dance of the puppets
The rusted chains of prison moons
Are shattered by the sun.
I walk a road, horizons change
The tournaments begun.
The purple piper plays his tune,
The choir softly sing;
Three lullabies in an ancient tongue,
For the court of the crimson king.

The keeper of the city keys
Put shutters on the dreams.
I wait outside the pilgrims door
With insufficient schemes.
The black queen chants
The funeral march,
The cracked brass bells will ring;
To summon back the fire witch
To the court of the crimson king.

The gardener plants an evergreen
Whilst trampling on a flower.
I chase the wind of a prism ship
To taste the sweet and sour.
The pattern juggler lifts his hand;
The orchestra begin.
As slowly turns the grinding wheel
In the court of the crimson king.

On soft gray mornings widows cry
The wise men share a joke;
I run to grasp divining signs
To satisfy the hoax.
The yellow jester does not play
But gentle pulls the strings
And smiles as the puppets dance
In the court of the crimson king.

Anonymous:
Here is our bitch singing sweetly to Ursus. It figures the chickenshit would act like a cunt to someone who won't engage him.  Nice.  He's the kind of pissant who gets bitched at by his Aspen bosses and goes home to kick the shit out of his wife (interesting fact: Who's wife has not always been a woman!) and kids (Interesting fact:  Who's kids are not his. They know)

@Who:  Eat a dick Newton, eunuch.  Read what you said to Ursus.  You were unconsciously revealing your self loathing.  Make this your mantra to yourself to keep you from assuming.  Ponder what makes you the dick you are.  Then don't be such a prick.

Sing, wanna be tough guy.  Weakling.


--- Quote from: "TheWho" ---
Why are you so assuming?  Why are you being a dick? .  Dont be such a prick.
Why are you so assuming?  Why are you being a dick? .  Dont be such a prick.  
Why are you so assuming?  Why are you being a dick? .  Dont be such a prick.
Why are you so assuming?  Why are you being a dick? .  Dont be such a prick.  
...
--- End quote ---

TheWho:
Wooo Hooo!!!  Seems I hit a nerve somewhere!!  

...

Navigation

[0] Message Index

[#] Next page

[*] Previous page